Tall, Dark, and Determined (19 page)

“Here now, I haven't done a thing to show any interest or soft feeling toward her.” He had the honesty to look abashed. “In her presence, at least. That much I manage to do for her.”

“For her?” Jake's laughter died. “I figured this foolishness had some twisted notion of nobility behind it.”

“It's not foolish when my legs are what's twisted,” Lyman shot back. “If you want to call it noble for a man to keep his word instead of be selfish, then I'll abide by the description.”

“How do you figure that going back on your proposal—the promise to take a woman to wife and be true to her alone for a lifetime—is anything but the exact opposite of keeping your word?” Jake couldn't wrap his head around it, but figured this was where the “twisted” part would come into Lyman's actions.

A muscle worked in Lyman's jaw, ticking a long moment before he answered. “I promised I'd make sure she was taken care of for the rest of her life, that she wouldn't have to worry about the day-to-day for so long as we were together.”

“Well, there's a problem for you.” Jake tilted forward until he balanced on only two chair legs, leaning close to the bed. “It's easy to see how you backed yourself into a corner.”

“Yeah. It's hard to admit you can't take care of your woman. Harder to let her go.” A ghost of a smile passed over his face. “And hardest of all when Cora's so stubborn about it!”

“Maybe you should stop focusing on pushing Cora out of the corner you created and work on tearing it down instead.” Jake thought about it for a minute. “In fact, I bet she could help.”

Lyman goggled at him. “You haven't been listening at all!”

“No, my friend. You haven't been thinking.” Jake allowed all four legs of the chair to crash back to the ground. “Your problem isn't that you're oh-so-noble about keeping your word. If you think about it, you made promises that cancelled each other out—either she could be your wife, which means your helpmeet through good and bad, or she could expect you to take care of her for the rest of her life. You set that up for failure, and now you're choosing to uphold the wrong promise.”

“How dare you!” Lyman leaned as far forward as he could, upsetting the chessboard in the process but scarcely noticing.

“How dare I?” Jake got to his feet and headed for the door. “How dare you promise to love a woman, but abandon the effort and refuse to accept her love the moment you make a mistake.”

“I'm doing what's best for her! She deserves better than to be tied to a crippled man for the rest of her life. Cora's too great a prize for a failure and a shell of a man like me, and eventually she'll realize it.” He was yelling so hard, the veins in his neck stood out in sharp relief. “I'm doing her the favor of not having to fight her own conscience once that happens!”

“You mean you're making sure you never see it happen.” Jake shook his head in disgust. “Your problem isn't being too noble for your own good, Lyman. It's pride.”

“No cost can be too great
,” she'd declared in a quiet tone, equal parts pride and determination, trying to skewer him with those blue eyes as though he alone stood between her and success.

For all Chase knew, maybe he did. It all came down to what she'd done so far to get her way and whether or not his newly widowed sister paid any of the price for Lacey Lyman's ruthless streak. If Laura's husband had counted as part of that cost she spoke of so matter-of-factly, it had been too high for Chase. And that would mean he'd make sure these Lymans, whether they be impostors or schemers, paid in equal measure.

If she took part in masterminding the cave-in, Lacey Lyman would yearn for the day she grumbled over the strictures of Hope Falls. She'd enjoy far fewer freedoms and fashions behind bars.

“Then what troubles brought you out to the forest today?” Chase kept his tone light, giving away no hint of the suspicions edging his thoughts. His unwanted companion had already given away more than she imagined—no sense frightening her off now.

“You,” she blurted out, brows winging inward in a sudden scowl; it appeared Miss Lyman remembered her dislike of him. Just as suddenly, she remembered her manners. One hand clapped over her mouth a moment too late to hold back her implication.

The woman spoke before she thought, but did she think more than she let on? Had she really cottoned on to the fact Chase Dunstan might mean deep trouble for Hope Falls, or did words spill from her lips faster than she could catch them? Chase figured on the latter, but couldn't count out the possibility he was making the critical error common to any man confronted with a beautiful woman.
Don't underestimate this one
.

He let the silence sit between them, comfortable for him, not so comfortable for her. Only when she looked ready to give in and mutter her apologies did Chase offer, “If I'm the worst of your troubles, things are beginning to improve for you.”

Even if he sent her behind bars—and particularly since
if
remained the key condition for just about everything having to do with Hope Falls—Chase wasn't lying. The way he figured it, an attacking cougar counted as a worse threat than he managed. At the least, the cat presented a more immediate, lethal danger.

Or it had until they both shot it.
Which goes to show she may be every bit as dangerous, despite the frills and dimples
.

And Chase, with his own theories about why God gave various creatures certain attributes, didn't have much positive to say about such purely feminine lures as dimples. An honest, hardworking woman of character wouldn't need something designed to beguile. Nor would she stoop to using hers against men.

He'd noticed Miss Thompson—Granger's intended, not the one claiming to be Braden Lyman's fiancée—had a dimple as well. It begged the question how a man like him wound up in a town where roughly half the feminine population showed the trait. But the chef didn't wield hers the way Miss Lyman did as she flashed a saucy smile, deliberately deepening her dimples.

“You're an optimist, Mr. Dunstan. It seems we share something in common after all.” She flattered him in a blatant attempt to give a sense they were allies. “I believe Mr. Granger told you enough for you to guess that yesterday, despite the cougar, provided a dramatic improvement from the day before it?”

If the woman had a parasol, she'd be twirling it
. Chase took in her newly demure stance, gentle smile, and vulnerable gaze, assessing the picture she manufactured so easily. He may not be much for feminine wiles but a man would have to be both made of stone and around pretty ladies a good sight more often than Chase before he'd stop himself from appreciating one so fine as Lacey Lyman. So Chase stood and looked his fill.

He considered the wide blue eyes with their lush fringe of lashes.
Probably flutters those at every man she meets
. Beneath the fussy bows of her hat brim, worn to draw attention, glimpses of blond ringlets glinted in midmorning sunlight as though enjoying their match.
Curling tongs and coloring? Surely that effect isn't achieved without some sort of womanly deception
.

If they stood inside, he'd judge the sweet rosiness of her cheeks and lips to be the work of pinching or cosmetics—he'd seen his sister smuggle rose stain into her room in days long gone by and best left forgotten—but after Miss Lyman's mountain climb Chase thought she might be flushed from exertion.

Certainly the fullness of those lips owed nothing to artifice, and a man would have to be blind not to notice. Especially with those dimples drawing his eyes back with every smile. And should a man strive to avoid the temptation of staring at those lips and dwelling on what thoughts they inspired? He found himself in still greater danger.

Because once a man managed to look past Miss Lyman's face, he discovered an even more spectacular figure. How much of her remarkable shape she owed to a constricting corset and perhaps even some strategically placed padding, a man could only discover one way. And once that thought crossed Chase's mind …

He walked away.

He'll come back
. Lacey wiggled her shoulders to ease their tightness and shift her bandaging so it stopped rubbing. Certainly Mr. Dunstan would return in a moment or so. He must have heard something in the bushes and didn't want to startle it before getting close enough to evaluate the situation.

Which explained why he didn't utter so much as a word before striding away.
Hmmm … he's gone past those bushes now. Beyond that stand of birch. I can't think where he's off to
. Still, no need to worry about their abruptly ended conversation.

Although things seemed to be taking a turn for the better, and Lacey would prefer to finish charming Mr. Dunstan as soon as possible. When a lady conceded to alter her plans, the gentleman should remain present to enjoy her magnanimity. Otherwise she might recall her urge to berate him for his high-handed behavior and again decide to browbeat him into a model employee.

Of course, it became increasingly apparent Mr. Dunstan would never be a model employee. His headstrong, independent ways, coupled with uncanny intelligence, threatened those “troubles” Lacey accused him of in her earlier slip. Only his response, acknowledging her concern without embarrassing her further, prompted this sudden change in tactics.

Optimism and a sense of humor were qualities to be prized and boded well for a reasonable conversation.
Besides, men are more easily persuaded than ordered. At least
—Lacey peered off into the distance, where no sign remained of her errant employee
—they are so long as they remain in the conversation!

The slight twinge of doubt swelled, but Lacey had the means to reassure herself:
Obviously he means to come back; he left his massive bear of a dog sitting on the toe of my boot!

A shrill whistle, issued in three staccato bursts, pierced through the trees. Lacey jumped, her surprised shriek almost matching the same note. She did, however, succeed in dislodging Decoy from his perch atop her boot. The dog gave her a reproachful glance before heading off after Dunstan, in the same direction from which the whistle came. The whistle, she rapidly realized, he'd trained the dog to recognize and follow to him.

“He's
not
coming back,” Lacey marveled. For an instant the chill of disappointment held her in its grip. She shivered, even that slight motion making the tears in her shoulder prickle. The discomfort jarred her from her brief bemusement and into action.

She took off back down the mountainside, rushing to keep Decoy in her sights. Following Dunstan this far proved she could track back to town, but if the obstinate hunter went in another direction she might not be so fortunate. The dog, blessed with four feet and a long, loping stride, trotted—she hadn't even known dogs could trot, but this neither walk-nor-run quickstep seemed just that—at a far faster pace than Lacey managed to muster.

Encumbered as she was with corset and her full skirts, keeping her guide in sight claimed every drop of her energy and focus. She halted abruptly after rounding a particularly large pine tree and finding both dog and man.
Waiting
.

She itched to give him a telling off, but on the balance decided she wouldn't accomplish much by wheezing at the man. Instead Lacey borrowed a page from his book and waited. For her breath. To lay down the law. For the chance and ability to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his conduct thus far and what she had a right to expect from every employee.

No, not expect. Require
. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, insolently rising to his feet from where he'd been sitting on the ground, with his back propped against the tree, while she raced through the forest, answering his whistle.
With his dog
.

She gulped in another breath, as deep as her stays allowed, while the oblivious lout glanced at her and shrugged. Lacey watched, open-mouthed and with no nod to grace as she continued to struggle for breath, as the man grabbed a low-lying branch, swung his foot up onto another to ascend farther, and easily brought down a large pack. He nonchalantly shouldered it while she remained gasping like a landed fish. For all his expression could have been carved from stone, some indefinable aspect of his bearing told of deep amusement at her predicament.